COVENANT |
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The Botcon story by SIMON FURMAN |
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Sunrise on Protos. It was the moment Leonicus had come to treasure
above all.
The zemstvo was convened at the commencement of the sixth partcycle. It had been a span of decades, perhaps longer, since the twelve had gathered in the Stentorium, and then only to discus a somewhat routine shift in the power structure on post-war Cybertron, one that had been anticipated, run through the probability filter, and extrapolated to death long before their rather moot debate had begun. Now, though, there was a positive and almost tangible air of anticipation, a buzz of atmospheric fusion that reminded Leonicus uncomfortably of the Chronarchitect's screams. The last time the Chronarchitect had appeared, it had been in the Earth year 2005, and it had engendered the first real call to arms for the Covenant. Optimus Prime was dead. The Creation Matrix was in transitional flux. Unicron, the chaos-bringer, had returned and was intent on destroying the Matrix, the one force that could in turn destroy him. It was a nexus, a turning point on which countless possible outcomes and futures revolved. The framework of Primus' Grand Plan was an intricate and complex blueprint of possibilities and outcome, an evolving structure that needed the occasional delicate tweak to keep it viable. If the Matrix was not passed, if the next Prime did not rise, if Unicron was not stopped, then the Covenant would step in. Since their creation, at the dawn of the Universe itself, the Covenant had been preparing for Point Omega, or Shokaract, the battle that would decide the final fate of the Transformer race. Their whole existence, their very reason for being, it was all tied to this one apocalyptic event. While their kin on Cybertron and Earth grew at a pre-determined rate, unaware of the complexity of the plan, or indeed the Covenant itself, their evolutionary timetable had been accelerated, to better prepare them for the ultimate realization of Primus' Grand Plan. Distilled from the purest essence of Primus himself, untainted by unidivision, the process by which Transformers replicated, they were the elite, the heralds of the Matrix of Leadership. The only trouble was, no one knew exactly when Shokaract would occur, or indeed what form it would take. So they waited . . . and waited. And in 2005 they finally believed the waiting was over. The Chronarchitect had come, delivered his warning, and was gone. Satellites, invisible to the most sophisticated detection systems monitored the escalating conflict, relaying it to Observatory where the strategists ran myriad probability simulations. Weapons of war, used only in endless training simulations, were dusted down and readied. Crystalline craft able to fold space rose from their silos, launch systems on standby. But the call never came. The Matrix was passed, Rodimus Prime arose to destroy Unicron and lead the Transformer race into the next phase. No one complained, no one prevaricated, but the ordered and systematic standing down procedures masked silent disappointment and raised an unspoken question. When? When? As Leonicus scanned the eleven composed but nevertheless expectant faces assembled in the Stentorium, he felt a terrible sense of foreboding. Not about his or even their ultimate fate, not about the Chronarchitect's dire warning or his own glimpse of the nightmare to come, but rather about the integrity of the Covenant as a unit, should this still not be the call to arms. If he had begun to doubt, to question, was it not logical to assume some if not all of the others had reached similar crises of faith? Could they survive another 2005? Leonicus raised a hand to signal the zemstvo was now in session, but it was essentially an unnecessary gesture. All eyes were upon him, awaiting his words. Though the Covenant was a completely non-hierarchical entity, more and more of late the others had come to look to him for guidance, leadership. It was, to Leonicus, merely another cause for unease, another outward manifestation of the malaise which he feared permeated the Twelve. And, ultimately, it had become another burden to be shouldered. He felt suddenly weary. But when he spoke, his words were strong and true, delivered in a straightforward, matter-of-fact manner. "Brothers," he boomed, "the Chronarchitect has left us with a simple but cryptic entreaty, 'return to the beginning.' "I have no immediate sense of the nature or form of the threat we face, but the Chronarchitect spoke of the long night, oblivion. I believe Shokaract is upon us, either now or imminently, and that the fork he referred to is another nexus, one from which our ultimate fate will be decided." No one spoke when Leonicus paused, and he took the moment to gather his own thoughts. "There are clues in what was said and witnessed that we must pursue with all vigor if we are to be prepared. And there is mystery to be unraveled. "Let us first consider the Chronarchitect's condition, and the upheaval in the chronosphere that accompanied his visitation. We are looking for a temporal event, one of such magnitude that its ripples have shattered the space-time continuum. Its manifestation in this time zone may be tiny, an event hardly more than a footnote in a log entry in the Observatory's data stream. Find it." He looked at Libras, who nodded once. "Second. I want a full update on the current political situation on Cybertron. I don't believe for a moment that the current Maximal/Predacon alliance is as stable as the newsnet reports would have us believe. Dig deeper, the seeds of what is to come will already have been sown. Scorpius, court intrigue is your forte." Scorpius click-clacked his pincers in acknowledgment. "If this is an internal threat," Leonicus continued, "then our enemy is quite possibly already known to us. I want a full profile of all current malcontents, troublemakers, and insurgents, be they Predacon or Maximal. Start with the current Megatron, the name is synonymous with adversity." Leonicus moved on, quite sure that Piscor's rogue's gallery of a mind was already sifting through the detritus of their race. "If the time line has been corrupted, then what is history to us is not necessarily so any more. The Chronarchitect said as much. I want a thorough review of our entire past, broken down and analyzed against our own recollections. The computer's memory logs will have been rewritten along any restructuring of the chronosphere, but our own minds are insulated. If there's been a change, I want to know about it. That task, I believe, should keep the rest of you busy for some time." "And you?" It was Ariex who had spoken, his surly, forthright question underscoring an edge of tension that existed between the two. Ariex's restlessness seemed to have coalesced as resentment, and he, Leonicus, had somehow been personified as the focal point of that frustration. "I," replied Leonicus, careful to keep any inflection from his voice, the tone neutral, "will ponder the conundrum that the Chronarchitect has left us with. 'Return to the beginning,' but which beginning exactly . . . ?" The beginning, strictly speaking, was the end. The end of an entire universe, one that had existed long before any modern measurement of time began. It was the twilight of the gods, beings of pure energy that had grown to a point where nothing was beyond them. They were omnipotent, almighty, boundless. But, as it turned out, not all-seeing. Otherwise, they might have noticed that one of their number had taken to calling himself the devourer of worlds. Though as it happened, worlds were merely an aperitif to the banquet that was to follow. Its name was Unicron, and its terrible hunger drove it to wipe all life from this old Universe. It consumed its fellow gods (not immortal either), planets, galaxies, even space itself, until there was nothing. Satiated, it finally slept, alone in the void. But tenaciously, life hung on, and through a massive effort of will it began a subatomic chain reaction that built and expanded, gathering gaseous momentum with each explosion of primal forces. Until ultimately, it birthed a new Universe, created new life. And with this creation came a protector, a counter-force to the threat of Unicron. Its name was Primus. However, it soon became apparent that this fragile new universe was not meant to contain beings as powerful and elemental as Unicron and Primus. Their battles laid waste to countless fledgling star systems, destroying the very life Primus had been created to protect. And so, a plan was borne. One that would, if successful, both end the current threat of Unicron, and, ultimately, safeguard the universe for generations to come. Primus intended to lure Unicron to a reality that existed as an extension of the mind, beyond the physical form. There, Unicron would all but triumph, and scenting final victory would blindly pursue the retreating Primus. Unicron would not, until far too late, realize that, instead of returning to their energy forms, their psychic essences had materialized inside dead metal asteroids, where they would both be trapped for all eternity. But like all good plans, a dry run was needed. Especially as all this was simply the precursor to a much grander and far reaching scheme. And that was where the Covenant came in. Leonicus paused the partially fused quasi-reality template, aware that he was subliminally infusing it with an air of triteness, shallowness even. The origin of his entire race was reading like a fable, and an uninspired one at that. Focus was needed, more so now than ever. They had arrived at what could be described as the second "beginning"... Selecting a suitably barren and unpopulated moon, Primus transferred part of his life force deep into its core. There he focused all his vast psionic abilities, restructuring a portion of its mass from the inside out. For three hundred thousand years he worked his way to the surface, creating an incredibly complex hive-like colony, completely self-sufficient and equipped with technology and equipment of unparalleled sophistication and range. And then, in a supreme act of focused will, Primus created life. The experiment was an unqualified success. Formed from the very metal of the moon, fueled by tiny sparks of Primus' own life force, the Transformers were born. Twelve in total. The Covenant. Prepared with the knowledge that once caged in his metal prison he could re-shape it, create a race that could carry on and see through his Plan, Primus departed, leaving the Twelve with the means to both stay hidden and monitor the course of events, all the while readying themselves for the call to arms. They waited and watched. Saw Primus' prison become Cybertron, saw him populate it with beings like themselves, saw the great Civil War begin and spread across the galaxy - most tellingly, to Earth - saw the return of Unicron, who had also shaped his prison, saw the Matrix of Leadership pass from Prima to Prime Nova to Sentinel Prime to Optimus Prime, and ultimately to Rodimus Prime, saw the destruction of Unicron, saw the end of the Civil War, saw the restructuring of Cybertronian society into Maximal and Predacon castes. Billions of years, and an intricate weave of events that formed the tapestry of the Grand Plan. But the picture was incomplete. Threads extended into another section, one that when finally unveiled would either complete the tableaux or unravel it all. It was into this unknown vista that they would be thrust, Leonicus felt sure. The waiting was almost over. They could only hope that when the time came they were indeed prepared, the mystery of the Chronarchitect's entreaty solved. If not . . . . . . then the whole universe would pay the price. SHOKARACT RISING The terror begins next issue
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